


Drawing Dreams

by stormcorona



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, One Shot, Snape Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21801451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormcorona/pseuds/stormcorona
Summary: Ever since nearly losing her life to Dolohov's curse, Hermione dreams nightly of conversing with a much nicer, more talkative Professor Snape. She's always put these down to a teacher crush and overactive imagination. After he dies during the war, she's shocked to learn that Snape has willed his entire estate to her. As she sorts through his belongings, she stumbles upon a series of clues that indicate that her dreams are true--and that Severus may be alive.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 54
Kudos: 580





	Drawing Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Friendship begins in year five (Hermione would be 17ish?) and romance does not begin until post-war.

“He _what?”_

Hermione stared, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, at Minerva, who sat across from her at the Headmistress’ desk. The elderly witch nodded, cleared her throat, and re-read the piece of parchment that she held in her hands. 

“I, Severus Tobias Snape, Heir of House Prince, leave all of my belongings and estate to Hermione Jean Granger.” 

Hermione continued to stare. He’d left everything to her. What the hell? Why not Malfoy? Or Harry? Or… literally anyone else? She knew she’d been his least favorite. 

“That’s a forgery,” Hermione decided aloud. 

Minerva offered a sympathetic smile. “Afraid not, dear. It’s got his official Prince seal, the official Gringotts, Hogwarts, and Ministry seals, and was apparently witnessed by Albus.” She held out the will, which Hermione took with trembling fingers. The parchment shook, and she had to quickly rest her hands on the desk so she could read the script. 

That was Snape’s handwriting, alright. Definitely his. The signature, too… and Albus’. The quartet of seals stared back at her. Prince, Hogwarts, Gringotts, Ministry. It was all too much to be faked. Too official. Hermione stared it down. 

“Fuck,” Hermione breathed. 

Minerva had already poured them each a finger of Hermione’s favorite whiskey. “Here, dear. Let’s have a little to steady your nerves, then head down to his quarters. I’ll help you.”

A finger didn’t feel like nearly enough alcohol, but Hermione accepted it, very glad for Minerva’s unwavering support. “You’re a life saver,” she told her mentor, downing the whiskey quickly and choking only a little. 

Patting Hermione’s hand, Minerva smiled and stood up. “You’ll get to proper whiskey drinking soon. Come on, dear.” 

The trip down to the dungeons felt like a dream. It had been months since the restoration of the school finished, and with her duties as Minerva’s apprentice animagus, Hermione didn’t have much time to visit the dungeons. It was a pathway that Hermione had walked innumerable times, both in life and in sleep, but… but dreams couldn’t mean anything. 

_The dreams had started fifth year, after the battle of the Ministry. She’d thought they were stress dreams at first, the repetitive walking down to the dungeons and the sinking feeling of having to confront Professor Snape. But when she reached the door, it always swung open for her._

_He was sitting in front of the fireplace with a book and the air was permeated by magic. His robes were so dark and voluminous it seemed they comprised the very dancing shadows themselves. The first night she didn’t dare disturb him. It took her six days before she even ventured into the room._

_The door clicked shut behind her. Hermione felt suddenly trapped, and as she looked around, she realized it wasn’t the potions classroom. It was a library. Filled to the brim with books and shadows jumping about from the flickering flames. She looked to Snape, and his hand was extended, elegant and pale, gesturing towards an empty armchair that Hermione swore wasn’t there a moment before._

_“Sit,” he said._

_Hermione looked around, but there was no one else for him to be talking to. It wasn’t until the next day that she took a deep breath, walked into the room, and sat down beside him._

_“Where am I?” she asked._

_“In your room, I assume,” he replied, turning a page in his book with a graceful efficacy. He didn’t look up at her. He continued to read, unabated. “I do not profess to know where my students make a habit of sleeping.”_

_She looked down at herself, in her kitty-patterned pajamas. “Ah,” she said. She was too accustomed to stress dreams of showing up naked to classes and missing finals to panic at the realization that she was wearing pajamas. “Well, I’m glad. I think the real you would eviscerate me for wearing pajamas in your presence.”_

_He smiled. He still hadn’t looked at her, his gaze hidden by the fire and his pose. “Do you not think me a fan of kitten pajamas?”_

_“They’re not black,” Hermione shot back, and he exhaled a single breathy laugh._

_“Fair enough, Hermione.”_

_She’d never heard him use her first name before._

Hermione steadied herself against the cold stone of the dungeon walls and tentatively reached out to the potions classroom door. 

With a quiet click, it swung out before her fingers could even touch it. 

Hermione’s breath caught in her mouth. The air was thick, suffused with magic and wards. She’d never seen it like this in her waking experiences. Her heart caught in her throat and she half expected the room to be filled with bookshelves. 

But no. It was just the normal room, with desks and shelves of equipment. 

Normal except for the thickness of the magic. It was so strong she could barely breathe. “Minerva?” she asked, her voice quiet and shamefully tight. “Do you… feel that?”

Minerva nodded. “His wards must have… changed with his death.” 

Hermione wasn’t so sure, but she nodded, and took another tentative step inside the room. The door swung shut behind her. The click was so soft, but it made her jump violently nonetheless. 

She hauled the door open and Minerva stepped through hurriedly. “This is very strange,” the Headmistress observed. “Stay close. He wouldn’t harm you, but I don’t know what his… dead man’s switch was.” 

Snape wouldn’t hurt her, even if he hated her. In contrast to his dream doppelganger, real-life Snape was always acerbic towards her. She wasn’t sure if it’d worsened after her dreams began, or if she just felt the difference even more. 

“Trust me, I’m happy to have company,” Hermione said, and made her way towards the door to his office. It swung open in front of her, and both of them hurried through. 

The desk sat imposingly in the middle of a room of bookshelves. Not her dreamed room of bookshelves, but it still felt… familiar. She moved towards the desk and her heart stopped. 

_The next night Hermione entered the room with more ease. She paused to look around, but the books on the shelves kept shifting and the text kept swimming in front of her eyes._

_“Damnit,” she muttered._

_It was the second time she’d heard him laugh. “Are they not behaving?”_

_“I can never read in dreams,” Hermione explained, turning and sitting down again. “The text always shifts. I hear it’s like that for a lot of people.”_

_“What, is my company insufficient?” he asked with a wide grin._

_“No, you’re much nicer than real Snape,” Hermione admitted. “But I figured even my imagined, dream version of Snape would probably prefer reading to my endless questions.”_

_He laughed again, flipping a page in his book. “Nonsense. If you are to be here, we will talk, and you will learn.”_

_“Learn, sir?”_

_“Yes. Your part in this war is even more essential than Potter’s. Where he is the sword, you are the hand that guides him. Albus trusts your guidance and circumspection more than the boy’s, and you will be vital before this is all over. We will begin with the arts of occlumency and legilimency.”_

“Hermione? Hermione!”

Hermione startled, grasping Minerva’s arm to steady herself. “Sorry,” she said, voice shaking. “Flashback.” She nodded at the book. _The Arts of Occlumency and Legilimency,_ by Hadrian Morpheus. 

_He never looked up from his book except to use legilimency on her. The first time he’d tried, his dark gaze had snapped up to hers and Hermione had the sudden, paralyzing realization that his eyes were swamped with inky darkness: no whites, no iris, just blackness. It was gorgeous. He was gorgeous._

Minerva helped her over to Snape’s old chair. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. One of the uglier ones.”

Laughing, Hermione buried her face in her hands. “I just…” She peeked through her fingers at the book sitting in front of the desk. Merlin. She wanted to open it, disprove her strange visions. “Why does he even still have these rooms?” she asked, an entirely different question. “Wasn’t he Headmaster?”

“He was,” Minerva confirmed, “But he retained these rooms. When I came into power, I just… locked them up. I couldn’t bear to deal with them.” She leaned against Snape’s desk, hugging herself tight. “He was a brilliant child, you know. Sharp as a whip and so scared. So bloody fucking scared.” She closed her eyes. “But even back then, he was no coward.”

“He was the bravest person I’ve ever known,” Hermione agreed. “I… can’t believe he gave me all of these books.” 

Minerva laughed. “I’m sure he knew you were the only person who’d appreciate them enough to take proper care of them.” 

Hermione snorted at that. “Okay, that’s fair.” She sat up a little in his office chair, draping her arms on the armrests. She could practically feel where long years of Severus--Snape, Snape was his name, Severus was the figment of imagination that populated her dreams--long years of Snape sitting on it. And yet, Severus and Snape smelled very much the same, the scent of herbs and parchment that hung in the air despite the time since his death. 

“You will also have his personal reagent stores,” Minerva said, breaking her concentration. 

Her eyes flew open again at that. “His… oh, Merlin.” Severus had been very particular about his stores. 

“He once told me you were the only student that could properly organize them.” Minerva smiled, but it looked more like a gesture to hold back tears. “I suppose that explains even more why he left them to you. He’d hate to see them out of order.” 

Yes, that was extremely fair. Hermione leaned forward, ignoring the book for a moment to straighten out his quills as she’d seen him do so many times. After the dreams began, many of her hours with Snape were spent watching his mannerisms, missing the curve of his smile or the gentler wit of Severus. His humor was still biting, but it felt more like a nibble than someone tearing out your throat. 

_One night Hermione collapsed into the chair with a groan._

_“Rough day?” Severus asked dryly, flipping another page in his book. She wished he’d look at her for things besides occlumency._

_“Your real-world counterpart was a real shit today,” she grouched, rolling around so she had most of her back and bum on the chair, her feet in the air and legs resting against the back of the armchair. She let her head fall off of the armrest, looking at him upside-down._

_A bark of laughter came from him. “He normally is.”_

_“Nonsense, sometimes he’s decent enough. Usually when I can get him going on potions, and focusing on that rather than the insipidity of my questions or the students he deals with. He’s really smart, you know. It’s kind of cute, how he geeks out.”_

_Those dark eyes raised to hers, and one eyebrow raised. “Cute?”_

_“Yeah,” she said, reaching over with one hand and gently poking the tip of his nose. He blinked, looking taken aback. “What, you think I don’t find smart boys cute?”_

_“Smart boys, perhaps, but I don’t think either myself or my real-world counterpart are particularly attractive.”_

_“Nonsense,” she said. “You’ve got the tall, dark-haired, and ominous thing going on. Both of you provide more interesting conversation than all of the rest of the male population of this damn castle.”_

_He snorted, looking back at his book. “You’re unusually forthcoming tonight. Have some firewhiskey before you went to bed? I wouldn't blame you, with the boys you deal with.”_

_“It’s because you’re Severus, the dream-doppelganger, not Professor Snape.” Hermione laughed. “You’ve clearly never seen yourself duel. Ever since you flattened that fucking fop, I’ve had a teacher crush.”_

_Severus froze in the chair, hand halfway up to turn a page. He looked at her again. “I think you’ve gone… how does Weasley put it? ‘Mental.’”_

_“Probably,” Hermione said with a shrug. “I mean, I am dreaming about a nicer version of my potions teacher, aren’t I?”_

_He smiled. “Indeed you are. An altogether strange and questionable choice.”_

“I’ll have to go through his quarters, too, won’t I?” Hermione murmured, the realization churning her stomach. That would be too personal. She might need time to work up to that. 

“Yes,” Minerva replied. “I can get either myself or Filius to accompany you for that, if you wish.”

“Not sure yet,” Hermione admitted, leaning back in the chair and closing her eyes. “I’ll let you know how I feel. For now… let’s start here.” 

It was a lot. There were plenty of interesting books, which she desperately wanted to sit down with, but she couldn’t bear to touch them until she had an idea of the details of his estate.

His quarters were the worst part. She’d have to… do something with a lot of his furniture, she realized. It was all so nice and all so infused with his scent and presence. And where the hell was she going to fit all of his ingredients?

A safe in the corner of his rooms held several logbooks from Gringotts and a few muggle investing markets, as well as the key to the Prince vaults at Gringotts. From the registers, Hermione had just come into a great deal of wealth, and the feeling terrified her. 

Hours later, after Minerva had gone to bed, Hermione sat down in Snape’s office chair again and leaned back. She remembered the night after Dumbledore’s death. 

_She had run into the room, slammed the door shut, and fallen sobbing on the ground, curled up against the door and a bookcase. The tears felt so real that she was certain she was crying in her sleep, in exhausted protest of what felt like the acts of Severus as well as of Snape._

_“Hermione,” he said, and she realized he was knelt by her, an expression of stricken loss on his face._

_She shut her eyes tight, and grabbed his hand, holding it to her chest. The calloused digits curled around her hand and gently caressed her back of her hand._

_“I’m sorry,” he said._

_“Shut up,” she mumbled. “Shut up. I just--”_

_“I can leave.”_

_She held his arm tighter at that. “No. I just need to figure out why you did it.”_

_There was a beat of silence, and then, “What?”_

_“Why you--why he, whatever--did it,” Hermione said, taking a deep breath. “I’m certain--certain that Dumbledore was in on it. He said ‘Severus, please.’ That’s… so different than what he would say to an enemy.”_

_His silence felt like a implicit confirmation, so she ploughed onwards._

_“In the Ministry, he basically… it was like he was admonishing Tom. He didn’t admonish you. He asked.” She opened her eyes. He was staring at her still, his expression sad and shocked but also so very tired. “What was he asking you for? To die?”_

_Severus sighed. He sat down, criss-cross. Hermione shuffled to rest her head on his thigh. “He was… cursed,” he began. “The Dark Lord got him. He would die anyway.”_

_“So he had you kill him, to prove your ‘loyalty’ to the Dark Lord,” she said, nodding as the pieces fit into place. “How long have you been spying for him?”_

_Severus’ lips twitched into a sardonic smile. “What, you don’t think I was spying on Dumbledore for Voldemort?”_

_“No, it’d be too obvious.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Voldemort’s agents to Hogwarts have always been far more subtle. Quirrel was harmless and eccentric. The Triwizard Cup was placed as a trophy for Harry. Crouch was nice to Harry. You’ve always been openly disdainful of Harry. You’d be the least effective spy possible--with no ability to get close to Harry to off him.” She reached up with the hand not holding his and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “Even if younger-me thought you were the enemy and lit you on fire,” she murmured._

_He froze again, and then his brow furrowed. “That was you?”_

_“Yeah. Killing Harry then would’ve been more effective. Instead you were counter-cursing. As I so thoroughly proved.”_

_Severus scoffed and rolled his eyes, which she could tell from his expression even though his eyes were black as pitch. “You are insufferable.”_

_“So how long?”_

_He sighed. “Since Harry’s mother and father died. She was my best friend in youth. Her death made me realize how deeply astray I had gone.” He smiled, and it seemed to Hermione like she could see the sadness and loneliness in it. “Try and not tell anyone.”_

_She returned his smile. “Of course not. It’s not like I have proof, anyway. Just a strange dream or two.”_

The dreams hadn’t come back since he died. Just like that, both Severus and Snape were gone. Even determined as she was that Severus was a figment of her imagination, she couldn’t see his real-life counterpart die like that. It struck too close to her heart and the friendship she’d formed as she slept. She’d stayed in the Shack, sobbing, as Harry went to the Pensieve to see what Snape had given them. But Hermione had already known what the memories would contain, so she stayed, to try and bring him back to life. 

It didn’t work. Harry came back to tell her what he had to do, how he had to die. So Hermione had said her final farewell to both of them, the two most beloved men in her life, then returned to face down Voldemort. 

Hermione sighed, slumping down against a wardrobe and continuing to fall until she laid on the plush persian rug. She shut her eyes to try and stem the tide of tears. It didn’t work. Severus had been her voice of reason throughout the year camping, helping her strategize to destroy the horcruxes, even as his appearance became sallow and more exhausted. He’d even listened to her rant about how shitty Ron was. At her prompting, he began to open up about having to constrain the Carrows at Hogwarts, to protect the students from the Dark Lord as he pretended to be Voldemort’s greatest servant. 

Exhausted by the memories and the emotional rollercoaster of the day, she curled up on the floor and fell into a dreamless sleep. 

***

The next morning, Hermione was awoken by light streaming through the waters of Black Lake. She took a deep breath, and looked around the quarters. 

Some part of her had hoped that Severus would return to her mind for a final farewell. But no. Apparently his death had destroyed whatever fragment of her mind had conjured him. 

She glanced over at the mantlepiece. The chairs in front of it were familiar. Identical to the ones in her dreams. She turned away. 

There was a book under the bed. 

Hermione blinked. Wouldn’t a spy have better places of hiding things? She rolled, log-style, all the way across the room to the book, and picked up her wand. A diagnostic charm proved it harmless. The book had only a simple protective charm so only Snape and now Hermione could open it. After a moment’s hesitation, Hermione picked it up.

There was no title on its spine or cover. It was nondescript green-dyed leather, bound with a tie and a charm. She hesitantly touched the tie, which fell open, the charm--like all wards in his room--giving way to her. Sitting up, Hermione leaned her back against the bed and opened the book.

_This sketchbook is property of: ________________________________

He hadn’t written his name in it. Hermione snorted. He probably didn’t want people realizing he was artistic. She turned the page, and her eyes widened. 

_She’s in my fucking head. Can’t get her out. I am a creep. Stupid fucking glaistig. Stupid fucking compulsion._

Glaistig? What was a glaistig, and why did Snape hate it so much?

Hermione frowned, chewing her lip. This would require further investigation. She turned the page and her jaw dropped. 

It was a sketch of her. Her heart skipped a beat. It looked like it was drawn from life, and… hang on, that was two days after she’d been hit by Dolohov’s curse. Snape had treated her wound. The sketch was her, resting, in the infirmary. It was beautiful, too, so well-drawn Hermione wondered if Snape had missed his true calling.

Quickly, she turned the pages again and again. It pages of angry writing about how much Snape hated himself and the glaistig, whatever it was, and how he was such a creep. The rants were occasionally broken with sketches of her. The rants seemed about daily, whereas the sketches happened once or twice a month. 

But more importantly, they were sketches of her… in the dreams. A Hermione upside down in her chair, like she’d been when she confessed to having a teacher crush. The date was correct, too. Curious, Hermione turned to the date of Dumbledore’s death. There was no rant that day, just a drawing: two hands joined, her smaller hand, in his. 

Severus was real. And he’d trusted her. 

Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth. Clutching the sketchbook to her chest, she ran upstairs to the library. 

As Minerva’s apprentice, she was allowed access to the Library’s restricted section, so she hurried in, scanning through the shelves and just apologizing profusely when Madam Pince hissed and spat. Finally, she found an encyclopedia of Gaelic fairies. 

_The glaistig is a Scottish fae, often taking the form of a woman in green. They can be malevolent or benign, and on rare occasions, interbreed with the magical populace.  
Those descended from a glaistig have powerful magic, can regenerate wounds as a magical creature might, and a predilection towards vengeance, as with many of the fae. Their eyes are said to be pure black.  
Additionally, the half-glaistig may bind themselves to someone by allowing that person to ingest their blood. The recipient gains regenerative powers similar to the half-glaistig’s, and the half-glaistig’s soul will become bound to the recipient, although the recipient’s soul remains free. Some have compared this binding to that of soulmates, with the same strength and compulsions. This power must be used carefully, or the half-glaistig may become bound to someone who will abuse their dominance of the half-glaistig.  
The half-glaistig’s health also becomes related to their bound partner: the nearer the partner, the stronger the half-glaistig. The partner’s tears and blood will also heal the half-glaistig of even the most deadly injuries, while the half-glaistig’s regeneration may be diminished in the absence of the partner. _

Hermione dropped the book. It tumbled into her lap, and Madam Pince hovered closer like a shark circling for the kill, but Hermione couldn’t even notice her. 

Tears would heal the half-glaistig.

“Severus is alive,” she whispered. 

A whipped circle of her wand, and the otter shot off to rouse Minerva. Hermione just sat, dead to the world, for another minute before Minerva rushed in, still in her sleeping clothes. 

“Hermione! What’s wrong?”

“Severus is alive,” she repeated. She picked up the sketchbook, the tie falling away as she opened it, and held out the note to Minerva. 

The Headmistress paused, frowning at the sketchbook before turning to the encyclopedia and reading the entry. “You were with him, in the Shack. You…”

“Cried over him,” Hermione confirmed. Madam Pince was still hovering, although now with half-interest. “I’d been… having dreams about him, I guess with him, for the past two years. He was different there.”

“The mask was down.” Minerva nodded. 

“Yes. It started after Dolohov. He must’ve used his blood to save me. I… I thought they were imaginary, but it still hurt when he, you know, and-” Hermione froze as she realized something else. “-He saw me. He saw me there. He didn’t…”

Minerva reached out and hugged Hermione against her side. “He didn’t tell you to cry.” 

Hermione buried her face in Minerva’s shoulder, shaking with sobs that had been held in since she woke up. “I need to find him,” she murmured. “He must be… very unwell.”

“His health deteriorated while you and Harry were away,” Minerva murmured. “That matches. Come, I know a few charms for detecting soul-bonds. I bet we can find your wayward half-glaistig.” 

“He’s not mine,” Hermione murmured. “He probably saved me at Albus’ direction.” 

Minerva chuckled, then flipped to a page in the sketchbook Hermione hadn’t noticed. It simply read, ‘Albus found out about the binding today. He was not happy about his spy’s new weakness.’

It took another ten minutes, but Hermione managed to get herself together enough to head to the Headmistress’ office with the sketchbook and encyclopedia, which Pince reluctantly let leave the restricted section. 

The Headmistress procured a detailed map of Britain while Hermione ate breakfast and pricked a finger with a potioneer’s knife. After they had a small bowl’s worth of blood, she healed the wound and took a bit of wiggenweld potion to assuage the effects of blood loss. 

“After you say the incantation, you’ll dip the tip of your wand in the blood and make a flinging motion towards the map,” Minerva explained as she tacked up the map on a board. “We’ll do several tests, to make sure.”

Hermione felt faint. She couldn’t tell if it was from the blood loss or the nervousness. Minerva held the bowl while Hermione took a deep breath and prepared herself. 

“Sanguine oculus,” she said, then dipped the wand and, closing her eyes, flung it towards the map. Minerva gasped, but Hermione didn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t bear to look yet. Instead, she performed the spell four more times. 

“Hermione, that’s more than enough.” 

She bit her lip. Were they that scattered? “Is it?”

“Open your eyes, dear.” 

Hermione steeled herself for disappointment and looked. 

The map had a single brilliant pinpoint of red, right over…

“Cokeworth,” she whispered.

Of course. Where would Severus go but Cokeworth? She dashed from the room, Minerva running after her, all the way down to the dungeons. She found a primed blood replenishment potion, which would only require the addition of someone’s blood to complete, and with another quick slash, added drops of her own blood to the potion, which Minerva swiftly augmented with the remainders in the bowl. 

“I need to go immediately,” Hermione decided.

Minerva hurried over to the fireplace. “I’ll come with to make sure everything’s alright. Don’t worry, I’ll leave to go find food for all of us if he’s alright.” 

Hermione nodded, and together, they floo’d to Cokeworth. 

***

Severus was feeling a little better than the day before. He wasn’t sure if he was slowly getting acclimatized to the constant pain of his reality, or if Hermione was visiting a nearby town. Either way, he was getting some good brewing done that day, producing large batches of medicine for St. Mungo’s. The potions wouldn’t work for him--the glaistig’s heritage had seen to that. 

There was a knock on the door, and he sighed and got up from where he was comfortably reading _Potions Monthly._ Probably a salesman. The area around Spinner’s End had been getting gentrified, and sometimes the salespeople still got lost. 

With a sigh of resignation, he flung open the door. “I don’t want to buy--”

There was a squeak and suddenly he was being hugged. It took him a moment to register that his wards hadn’t activated, and they hadn’t because it was her. 

Hermione Granger was clutching onto him like he was a lifeline to the only boat in the middle of a storm. And she was crying into his sweater, her tiny frame racking with each sob. She held up a thick red potion, shoving it into his hands. “Drink this,” she mumbled against his chest, voice thick with tears. “Dumbass.” 

“You,” Severus realized, belatedly. “You… are here. How did you…?”

“I know you don’t want to see me,” she said, still hugging him tightly. “Please, please just… drink the potion. It’ll make you feel better.” 

Her tears were soaking through his clothes and he could feel where they touched the scars from Nagini. Sensation was rapidly returning to the area and the pain was already fading. Dazed, he looked at the potion. Blood replenisher. Between her tears and the potion, the swollen, angry scars of Nagini’s attack would probably be reduced to manageable white shadows, like the rest of his scars. 

Severus only noticed then that there was another person nearby. Minerva stood on the stoop, beaming at the reunion. “Minnie?”

She nodded. “I’ll go pick up lunch for all of us. And groceries, since I know you never have any, Severus.” She gave a pointed eyebrow raise that felt very motherly. “You two have some explaining to do, I figure.” She turned and wandered off down the street. 

“What the fuck,” Severus muttered. “This is all happening very fast.” 

“I missed you,” Hermione whispered, so quietly that he could barely hear it. His heart jumped. 

Swallowing the strangely buoyant lump in his throat, Severus gently moved Hermione into the house and shut the door. He managed to hobble, with her very stubbornly hanging on to his chest and continuing to cry quietly onto his scar, over to the couch. He put the blood replenisher down. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, still into his chest.

He blinked. “Why?”

“You’re not free. You’re bound to me.”

He took a deep breath, and with it the scent of masala chai and books. Her. “I have never regretted it. Neither should you. I would not allow the loss of such brilliance.”

She looked up at him and smiled sadly. Severus wasn’t entirely sure what happened next, but all of a sudden he was laying on his back on the couch with his arms around her, she was snuggled tightly on top of him and looking over at him with big tearful golden eyes, and he’d never been more comfortable. 

The past few months had not given him restful sleep, but he’d pushed through the pain and sleepiness with the strong desire to make amends. Until now. Now the lack of rest hit him like a brick, or maybe a Hermione. He felt like he could pass out for the next eternity. He stifled a yawn. 

“You can sleep,” she said. “I’ll stay until you chase me out.” 

So he slept. 

When Severus awoke it was like he’d never been alive before. The world was vivid and clear and his mind buzzed with energy he hadn’t had in years, since he’d last been free. A soft warmth was on top of him and against his side, and Severus stared in open awe at Hermione. She was still there, eyes closed and breathing even. Was she asleep on him? She trusted him that much?

She’d come for him. 

Truthfully, that realization was one that would take a great deal longer to process. Maybe she was just playing with him. That idea was safer than allowing himself hope. 

He realized she’d kicked off her shoes and they were now scattered on the ground. The domesticity of that image made his heart clench. Her eyes blinked open and she looked up at him, wide eyed. The puffiness around her eyes had gone down a little, but not by much. Had she been crying over him after he continued to sleep? 

“Hi,” she whispered, her cheeks turning pink. 

Severus just stared at her. She was smiling. He felt like his heartbeats were so loud they could shake the house. “You came for me,” he said. 

She nodded, glancing away and chewing on her lip like she did when she was nervous. Without thinking, he reached up with a finger and gently pulled her lip away. “Don’t, you’ll hurt yourself.”

There was a perilous moment between heartbeats. 

And then, again so quickly he didn’t know how it happened, he kissed her. He was kissing her, present tense. Wait. She was kissing back. They were kissing? One of his hands rested in the small of her back, the other buried in her wild hair, arms full with warmth and witch. Both of her hands held the sides of his face, and her legs were wrapped around his hips and she was on top of him, kissing him. 

He pulled away, gasping and heart jackhammering at the realization. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry. I shoudn’t have--”

She kissed him again, and he felt his eyes close, reveling in the warmth of a body pressed against his own. Her body. When she broke away the second time, he wrapped her in his arms and held her tight, resting his forehead against hers and taking slow, deep, shaking breaths. 

“What were you saying?” she asked, eyes wide and innocent. 

“I have no idea,” Severus replied, breathing in her scent. “Wasn’t important.” 

She hummed a laugh, then tucked herself against his side, one of her hands playing with his hair. 

Lunch. He should make her lunch--wait, Minerva was out getting lunch. Dinner. Would they be staying for dinner? Would she let him keep her that long? “Are you and Minerva staying for dinner?”

A smile quirked on her lips. “Minerva’s not. I am.” 

“Oh,” he breathed. “Perfect.”


End file.
